PJO Shipweeks 2014 SilenaxCharles: Go With Me
by jakkios
Summary: After the Battle of Manhattan, Silena finds herself as just another resident of the Underworld. However, someone is waiting to catch her when she falls.


_A roaring fills my ears, an entire river rushing past my head, tugging me down. I gasp for air, but there is nothing left to breathe. There's shouting, so many people shouting. I recognize some of the voices, but how? My world is a kaleidoscope of images that are constantly shifting, moving.__I am on fire._

_ I scream._

* * *

"You. Number 784, you're up."

Someone pushes his or her way past me, and I realize that I am standing in front of a revolving door.

"Sorry." I mumble, and step out of the way.

And then I just stand. I begin to hum. Sway a little.

Time passes.

"Number 784, please."

_Wait, where am I?_ I scan the room, and find that I'm in the lobby of a Macy's, with soft music playing over the loudspeakers. But that can't be right. A moment ago I was just…

I frown. That's funny, I can't remember.

Slowly, without making the decision to do so, my lips slide back up into a vacant grin. But I don't mind. What reason do I have not to smile?

"Silena Beauregard, if I have to call you name again, you're going to have to give up your spot on the elevator."

_Silena Beauregard. What a pretty name. _

_Yeah, that's a nice one…_

Hold on.

"Are…are you talking to me?" I cautiously raise my hand as if I'm answering a question in a class. I take another look around the room and find a large man in a suit standing behind a desk. Oh, he must be the one in charge. I smile and turn towards him, skipping a little as I do so.

"Does your ticket say 784?" He says it slow, like he's talking to a toddler. But that's alright. The world could use some kinder words.

"Um…" I look down, and realize that my fist is clenching a little red ticket, the kind I would usually buy to get into the state fair. Sure enough, the number reads 784. "Yeah! It does!" I giggle, even though I'm not quite sure what's so funny about it.

"Then come with me." The man sweeps his arms towards the open doors of a crowded elevator on the far side of the room. "You're the last one in the load." He talks as he leads me to the elevator, his voice weary. Bored. "Have to hurry, you understand. There's a war on. Tight schedule today."

_War. _The word makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shuffle into the cramped space, and stare straight ahead as the doors slide closed. Why do I care about a war?

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to think.

We are serenaded with Michael Jackson's _Beat It_ as we descend. And descend. Lower and lower, dropping down through the earth for what seems like an eternity. And the funny thing is, the longer we sit in the elevator, the more I feel like a dense fog is being cleared for my head.

"You're going to want to hang on to something." I look up at the towering form of the man, and I forget to draw in my next breath. I've never seen him before, but I know someone who has, and the description I remember fits perfectly: an Italian suit and sunglasses, military cut blond hair, hands bigger than my face.

_Charon. _

_ But that means-_

The little light above the door dings, and the doors slide open with a pleasant _woosh. _

I wish I had taken Charon's advice.

Everyone in the elevator crumples at the same time, including me. All at once, my head is flooded with a hundred thousand different memories, sounds, tastes, and feelings. _Sitting on a beach with the waves touching my toes, watching a herd of pegasi fly past-_

_ I'm riding one of those pegasi, making figure-eights's in the sky, laughing, calling out to-_

"If everyone's about ready to wrap up their tour of Memory Lane, I have a schedule to keep." I force my eyes open and look up at Charon, who is picking his way over everyone's bodies and out of the elevator. Gradually, the assault on my brain fades, and I am able to struggle to my feet, breathing hard through my nose.

And then I take a look around.

We are on the shore of a black river that flows from left to right, slicing a ribbon of gleaming dark through the landscape of black volcanic rock. The smell of sulfur and mothballs shoves itself up my nose, and I gag, pulling up the collar of my t-shirt to cover my face. On the far side of the river, running parallel to the rapids, squats an ugly wall made of obsidian. Rows and rows of wooden spikes stuck through with rotting heads line the battlements, and a single gate stands facing us, guarded by a monster I don't have to see to recognize: Cerberus.

"I'm in hell." I whisper.

"Nope! Getting pretty close, though." Charon cheerfully pats me on the back and starts to stride down the crumbling rock to the riverbank. "Keep up, all of you!" He calls over his shoulder. "You all came in with your payment, so don't let them take it!"

I put a hand down the pocket of my jeans, and sure enough, a golden _drachma_ sits, waiting for me. I slip it out and hug it close to my chest. I don't really decide to start walking, but I find my feet moving anyway. As I stumble after Charon-I'm the first out of the elevator-a crowd of specters begins to take shape on either side of the path. Groping hands strain for my _drachma_, and gaunt faces with missing teeth beg for my mercy, my kindness.

I lower my head, and let my hair make a curtain between them and me.

_I'm dead. _

Tears begin to prick my eyes, but I swallow, forcing them down.

_You're not allowed to cry. Not here._

It feels all too real, walking down the path. I'm not a ghost, or in that trance-state like back upstairs. I'm not on a quest to save anybody, and I don't have a way out. I died.

I _died. _

I clutch the coin so hard, I'm sure it should draw blood from my palm.

I remember the stories Percy told us about this place, all the times he's been down here. How terrible it is.

"All aboard!" Charon calls, and leans down to steady a cherry red speedboat with flames painted on the sides, like an old Hot Wheels toy. Even in the midst of all this, I grimace at the Underworld's sense of fashion.

I'm the first to reach it. Before I have time to panic and bolt, Charon holds out his free hand. "Your payment, please." He says. Slowly, I pry my fingers from the _drachma_, and drop it into his palm. "Thank you, dear." He opens a little waist-high door, inviting me on.

I stare at the boat, and take a look behind me. I still have trouble with clear memories, but I know that once I am aboard, there's no going back. Not to the elevator, not to the bright, sunny world that I have always known, not even the shoreline. Nothing.

I take a step.

* * *

The rest of the people pile onto the speedboat, and I decide to sit on the edge, near the front, overlooking the water. Once everyone is aboard, Charon revs the engine-a few more times than is really necessary-and then we are shooting across the water, bouncing on the waves. Spray flies up and hits my face, and I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the chill of the water. The drops sting faintly, like bits of burning debris. Even though the river didn't look all that wide, it seems to stretch as we travel across, growing a little longer with every second of travel. Even so, we reach the shore all too quickly, and we all file off like obedient circus animals.

"Straight up to the line, now." Charon is standing behind the wheel of the boat, and I see that a little captain's hat has materialized on his head. "And don't cause any trouble. Cerberus is always hungry." He grins, and puts the boat into gear. "Oh, and little lady!" I look around, but nobody else seems to hear him but me.

"Yeah?" My voice sounds horribly weak, torn apart.

"I saw what you did up there." Charon points his index finger up towards the roof of the massive cave that I cannot see, save for giant pillars of rock that break through the fog. "That really was something, even for a mortal." He flashes me a grin, and revs the engine again before turning and driving back across the river.

I watch him go, the gears in my head once again turning. What was he talking about? Try as I might, I couldn't find the memory in my head.

_Of how I died. _

I shiver, and push the thought away, then turn towards the huge gate that awaits me, and the uphill climb to get there.

I know what awaits me once I reach the top, and when I do, at least I have a half-smile on my face. Cerberus is sitting, guarding the gates, all three of his heads down on his paws. People file past him, waiting in the line that stretches beyond the gates.

"Hey there, boy." I'm the only one that stops by the dog, and he picks up two of his heads, instantly suspicious of me, sniffing me up and down. After a few moments of the feeling of having my clothes sucked in by a vacuum cleaner, he blows out a satisfied breath, finding me appropriately deceased. "You don't know me. But you've met my friends." I hold out a hand to one of his heads, and he looks at it, deciding whether or not to let me touch him. "You played with them. They were kind to you." Slowly, gently, I lower my hand onto his forehead, and begin to scratch up and down his face. "I'm really scared, boy." My voice is shaking. "I'm terrified, honestly. Everything is happening so fast, and I don't know what to do." A tiny whimper escapes my throat, and I sink down to my knees, leaning against Cerberus' gigantic neck. He whines, and leans his head against my body. I bury my face in his fur, gulping in huge breaths of stale air.

"We always used to talk about the risk of choosing our life. Of accepting our powers. We knew the cost. But it never seemed real. Like it would happen to me. And now I'm here, and I'm alone, and I-I…" This time, I let the tears flow. Great wet sobs rack my body, and I cry for everything that I know I have lost, even though I have not begun to fathom my new reality. I don't know how long I stay wrapped up in my cocoon of ghostly dog fur, and I don't care. I weep for sunshine, for the smell of flowers growing in the dirt. For all my cabin-mates, my friends. I can't remember how I died, but I can remember that I betrayed them, every single one of them. And I know with a dreaded certainty that when my soul is judged, I will be sent straight to the Fields of Punishment.

"Oh, _gods_." I almost call for someone to help me. Almost. I could run. Somewhere, anywhere, down the shoreline. I could try to swim back through the river. But deep in my gut, I know there is no escaping what I have done. I deserve to go to the Fields. I deserve to have my intestines picked at for the rest of eternity. And at least I know my fate. I straighten up a little.

At least I have somewhere to march to.

I grab fistfuls of fur and drag myself to my feet, brushing off my shirt. Tears still roll down my cheeks, but I wipe them away on my sleeve. "I am a child of Aphrodite." I say it to myself, looking into Cerberus' eyes. "I can do this."

And then, with one last scratch behind his ears, I take my place in line.

* * *

"Number 784, please." A cold, metallic voice floats through the intercom of the Judgment Pavilion, which looks like the box-office of an old time movie theater. Naked, blinking light bulbs flash merrily away, surrounding movie posters for stuff like _The Walking Dead, Zombieland, _and _Mean Girls. _

I gulp, steeling myself, and push my way through the turnstiles, into the dark room that awaits me.

The room turns out to be an empty stadium-seating theater, with a blank screen up at the front. Only the dim theater lights illuminate the space and the hundreds of empty, purple-felt seats. I squint, and make out three figures sitting at the top row. I watch for a moment as they shout at each other like they're in the middle of an argument.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice almost echoing in the cavernous space. Nothing. The figures, what I assume to be the Judges, don't even hear me.

_You can do this. _

I climb up the stairs that line the aisles of chairs, gripping the railing for support. The trek seems to take forever, just like everything else in the Underworld, and as I near the row of the Judges, I begin to sweat. The closer I get to the Judges, the clearer I can hear what it is they are fighting about.

"How many times have we seen _Warm Bodies? _I'll tell you how many! A hundred, at the very least!"

"Oh, now you're just being dramatic. _Warm Bodies _represents our deepest heritage-"

"You just want to watch a movie based on your own play, you twit!"

"Oh, is that what you think-"

"I have the rental of _Night At The Museuem_, I think it's an absolutely splendid-"

"Um." I couch, standing awkwardly at the end of the row of seats. One of the Judges nearest me whips his head around in surprise, nearly knocking the glasses off his face.

"Oh, number 784, old dear!" He bellows, spreading his arms out wide. "Come, sit with us, have a chat!" I hesitate. The man is huge, really, with neatly parted brown hair, a handlebar mustache, and round, golden glasses.

"Theodore Roosevelt?" I ask, not quite sure whether to laugh or cry from the insanity of this place.

"Of course, of course!" Everything he says it magnified tenfold in volume, it seems. He pats the seat beside him. "Now, like I said, sit with us!"

"Oh, Teddy, can't you see she's nervous? Give her some space." A woman dressed in full silver armor leans around the president, her black hair spilling like silk over her shoulders. "Don't mind him. He's just excited that he's portrayed by Robin Williams. That there's a movie about with him in it, really."

"Bitter that there's none about him, more like!" A little man jumps up from behind the woman, spittle flying from his mouth. "Joan, really, you're too nice to that old buffoon. He'll walk right over you, if you're not careful."

"Joan…Joan of Arc?" I feel as though someone has just struck me over the head with a lead pipe.

"Yes yes, and I'm William Shakespeare!" The little man throws up his hands like he has just finished a captivating performance. "Not like you wouldn't recognize me, though."

"Of course." I squeak, and sit rather hard down beside Roosevelt.

"Oh, look at you. It's all rather a lot to take in, isn't it, dear?" Roosevelt pats my hand. "Why, I remember when I died, had to be judged by ol' Washington himself! Imagine that, having someone tick off everything you did wrong with your presidency! The nerve of some-!"

"Teddy, I said give her some space!" Joan of Arc snakes her arm around the president's belly and offers me a bucket of popcorn. "Would you like something to eat? Twizzlers? Diet Coke?"

"No, thanks." I only barely manage to use my manors, figuring it wouldn't hurt to be kind to the Judges.

_My fate is going to be decided by these people? _

_I'm doomed. _

"Now, you're all wasting time!" Shakespeare has practically crawled onto Joan's shoulder. "If we Judge her quickly, we'll still have our break period to decide on our film of choice!"

"I suppose you're right, William." Roosevelt sighs, and assumes a look of grave seriousness. "Now, 784-"

"Silena."

"Silena! What a lovely name!" Roosevelt grins, all graveness washed from his face.

"Teddy."

"I'm going, Joan, I'm going." Roosevelt twists around in his seat with some difficulty, reaching from something under his feet. "Let's see, where is it…ah-ha!" He comes up with a remote, and points it towards the theater screen. "This will help us Judge you, dear." He whispers conspiratorially, and jams his thumb into the red Power button.

The massive screen explodes into life, displaying scenes, no, _memories_. My memories. Most of them zip fast much too quickly for me to see, or are too blurry or with garbled sound. But a few, ones that I know I remember well, play out at a normal pace, displaying all of the things locked away inside my mind. I almost begin to cry at these, because every single one takes place at Camp Half Blood, which I know I will never see again in my life. Or death, whatever. There's the horse stables with all the pegasi, and the obstacle course, the beach, the forest.

"So many from there, lately." Joan murmurs to herself.

On the screen, I'm racing through the woods, a flag in my hand, being chased by other campers. I'm in my cabin, reading. At the burials for those who died at the Battle of the Labyrinth, burning their shrouds.

Slowly, the movie that is my life begins to change in tone, and my stomach tightens into an ugly knot.

Things are getting worse at camp. Monsters attacking. Fear. Fires. I am so scared, all the time. One bright spot of me sitting under the fireworks with Charles-_Charles, oh gods, my heart breaks all over again-_and then I am making my deal with Luke. A charm is always wrapped around my neck, choking me. I try to back out, but I can't. A ship explodes, and I am at yet another shroud burning. This time, there is no body to burn.

One last battle. I'm fighting like a demon. Riding on a chariot, screaming my lungs raw, leading a cabin of Ares warriors into battle.

_I remember now. I don't want to see this. _

But I can't tear my eyes away.

I'm standing in the middle of the street, facing off against a serpent larger than a skyscraper. Just me, alone. I am living this memory now, not just watching it in a theater. Blood pounds through my head, and I know this is a fight I cannot win, but I don't care. All the bad I've done, all the death I've caused. At least I can have this.

I run towards the serpent, knowing it will be my last charge. And I don't last long.

Pain. Excruciating, blinding, exploding supernova pain. A helmet that has fused to my head, burning my hair off, burning my skin away.

"Charlie…See Charlie…"

The screen jerks to sudden black. My soul did not leave my body peacefully.

There are some afterimages of my brief journey to this point, like the after-credits scene of a Marvel movie, but those are fuzzy as well, distorted. I blink, wondering just how long we have been watching my life.

"Well then." Shakespeare has his arms folded, his notebook laying open and full of scribbled notes on his lap. "I think it's quite clear what we should do. Fields of Punishment! Next!"

And even though I am expecting this, my heart drops through my chest.

"Now wait a moment!" Roosevelt huffs a breath of air, in and out. "Look at that sacrifice she made! It was beautiful!"

"Sacrifice? Do you know how many deaths she was responsible for?" Shakespeare cried indignantly, now hopping up and down, reminding me of a Looney Toons character. "It would be a travesty to send her anywhere but Punishment!"

"Child." Joan leans back, looking at me behind Roosevelt. "You know what your fate is."

"Yes." I squeak. "I've known ever since I got here."

"There you go." Joan sits back like she's just made a huge point. "She knew, and she chose to come anyway. You all saw her sitting by Cerberus! Nobody was looking for her; she could have stayed with him for all eternity. I vote Asphodel."

"Elysium!" Roosevelt booms.

"Punishment, of course." Shakespeare rolls his eyes. "We all agree with what comes next?"

"Good luck, everyone." Joan says, and all at once, the three Judges lean close to each other, each holding out a fist. In unison, they chant…

_You've got to be kidding me. _

"Rock, paper, scissors!"

"Damnation!" Joan says something foul under her breath, and looks over at me. "Sorry, but Asphodel is out."

"For the win, old chap." Roosevelt nods at Shakespeare, and holds out his fist.

"Rock-" I cannot breath.

"Paper-" Time has slowed, become frozen in amber.

"Sciss-"

"WAIT!" A figure bursts through the doors at the bottom of the theater, and takes the steps two, three at a time. "Wait! Stop!"

"What in the..." Joan frowns, and holds a hand over her eyes like she's blocking out harsh sunlight.

"Don't Judge! Please!"

_Oh my gods. _

The figure comes out of the gloom of the low theater lights, and my heart, which a moment earlier had been dying on the floor, jumps into my mouth.

"Charles?" I breathe, not daring to say it too loud, lest he disappear, or turn out not to be real. I can't stand another cruel hallucination, not after everything I've just seen.

"Silena." He looks at me, really looks at me, like he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. Then, his eyes shift back to the Judges, who sit, staring in quiet shock. "You three. You have to listen to me, please."

"Who are you, boy?" Roosevelt struggles out of the confines of his seat, brushing rogue popcorn kernels off his shirt.

"I'm Charles Beckendorf, Silena's boyfriend." Charles puffs out his chest, and sets his jaw. "And I'm here to vouch for the best soul you will ever meet."

"Vouch? This isn't a tribunal, boy!" Shakespeare rises also from his seat, shaking his feather-pen at Charles. "Her fate has already been decided!"

"Not quite, William." Joan is the last to rise, but a small smile is beginning to make its way across her face. "Charles Beckendorf, a resident of Elysium, no less, what would you offer in this soul's defense?"

"Only that she deserves Elysium." Charles wraps a hand around mine, pulling me closer. "That everything she has ever done was only to protect others. That she is a mightier hero than any who have come before her. That she is living proof that love can conquer us all."

I look up at him, a swooping feeling building in my gut.

"Please," I say. "I know I've done wrong, but…" The words turn to vapor in my mouth, and I drop my head.

And then the fire of my mother's power ignites in my chest. This is my fate. This is my choice as much as it is theirs.

"Love is powerful. Charles' standing here, he came for me. He trekked across Asphodel for me. I've stumbled. We all stumble. And a part of me believes that I deserve the Fields of Punishment, I do. But…but I don't want to. I want to spend my eternity with him."

"You love each other very much, don't you." Roosevelt has a warm smile spread across his face, and his arm is wrapped around Joan's shoulder.

"Yes." Charles says, without a shadow of a doubt in his voice.

"But…But…" Shakespeare splutters, his face turning the color of a tomato.

"William, for once in your life, would you please just shut up?" Joan rounds on the littler man, flames quite literally dancing in her eyes. "Love is what drives us all. You more than anyone should know this, the number of sonnets you wrote for that man of yours. It may be our place to decide her fate, but her fate is not just her own. It is shared by this Charles Beckendorf, it is bound to his. And since he has already been placed in Elysium, it is only fitting that she should join him there." Joan stares at William until he lowers himself back into his seat, and then says, an octave lower, "I am changing my vote."

Warmth flushes through my body, and my legs almost buckle beneath me. Charles' hands are there, though, and they wrap around my waste, supporting me.

"I have you," He whispers.

"Go on now, you two!" Roosevelt chuckles to himself. "I can't imagine Lord Hades will be very pleased when he finds out that a soul is out of place! Beckendorf, would you be so kind as to show her the way?"

"I would be honored, sir." Beckendorf does a awkward sort of bow, and then grabs my hand, pulling me out of the theater before they can change their mind.

And just like that, my Judgement is finished.

* * *

"How?" We are standing by the backdoor of the building, looking out over the endless, blowing hills of wheat that make up Asphodel. In a strange sort of way, if I ignore the depressing gloom, it's almost beautiful.

"How what?" Charles grins and leans down, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"How are you here? How…anything?" I blush, and hug his arm, glad to have something solid to hold onto.

"I saw what happened." Charles' face darkens. "We were watching the war, and…" He draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I know what those three are like, obviously. And I knew what they were probably going to decide. So I slipped through the fences, and…here I am."

"Do you think I should be there?" I whisper. I don't have to elaborate for him to know what I'm speaking of.

"No. Never." Charles steps in front of me, and wraps his arms around my waist again. He leans forward, touching his forehead to mine. "Silena, I've seen Punishment, and the things they do there…" He shudders, and shakes his head. "No, you're a hero. And everyone at Camp Half Blood knows it."

"You can see Camp from Elysium?" I look up into his eyes that shine with starlight, and clasp my hands behind his neck, like we are dancing at Prom.

"I rigged up a big plasma screen with some other Hephaestus heroes." Charles grins, showing all of his white teeth. "It's pretty sweet, but the fights for the remote get kind of intense."

"I can deal with that." I close my eyes and breath in, taking in the smell of him, the closeness of us. "I can deal with anything."

"I know. That's why I love you." Before I can react, Charles swoops in and kisses me, a long, slow kiss that we didn't have time to have before he left for his mission. I savor every moment of it, and for the first time, I begin to hope that life in the Underworld might not be so impossible after all. "Now how about I show you our house?" He says into my mouth. "It has four bathrooms. A swimming pool, and a Pegasus."

"A real Pegasus or a mechanical one?" I laugh, still not pulling away from our messy half-kiss.

"They're practically the same thing."

"Not at all, Beckendorf." I lean away and flip my hair under my shoulder, giving him a mock-Kardashian sneer, which I can't hold for long before I begin to beam again, like the sun peaking out behind gray clouds. "Not at all."


End file.
